“I could live without the oyster lecture,” I blurt out without thinking. Heat teases the tops of my ears.
Ava cracks her thumb knuckle like she’s about to step into a fight ring. “Release the pearl, Ryder. Let it out. There is some glistening little gem of real words mixed with all those grunts and scowls.”
A smile is not happening. I will make my mouth bloody and shredded from biting my cheek to keep a smile buried and dead. There won’t be a greater challenge I’ll face today. Ava is miming cracking and digging into an oyster shell as she talks.
“Fine.” She tosses her hands in the air. “Stay in your ice cave. Wish I could say it was good to see you, but it honestly makes me want to cry.” Ava offers a condescending kind of curtsy. “Thank you for the opportunity to interview, Mr. Huntington.”
Then, she turns and heads toward the office again.
A little broken shard of me follows.
Once upon a time, she would’ve poked and prodded until she dug out my deepest thoughts, my private musings, no matter how strange. Outwardly, I’m aloof, unbothered. Inside, she’s leaving me in a tangle of barbs and briars, a mix of want and desire, and fear and resentment.
Part of me wants to call her back. But the greater part, the side of me I became after I walked away from the Williams family, wins out.
I turn my back on Ava, and once more drive away with her in the rearview mirror.
Ryder
“Still no luckwith finding someone to take this on, huh?” Parker crosses the dried grass, biting into half his protein bar at once.
I pop a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Haven’t looked too hard.”
“Really? I thought since it fell through with Haven you’d be knocking on doors looking for a new company right away. Or you could go back and give the job to the Haven designer you shut down.”
I should never have admitted to that. Since leaving Ava two days ago, I’d progressed in nothing. Every time I tried to look up another commercial architect or industrial interior designer, that shadowed look of disappointment flashes in my head.
I’m being ridiculous. A woman I once knew shouldn’t have such an impact on my plans with the center. We’re nothing anymore. The thought alone leaves a sour residue in the back of my throat.
No matter how I want to look at it, bits of Ava Williams are speckled throughout this entire project. Subconsciously or consciously, I don’t want to try to puzzle it out, but it can’t be denied I’d let past memories and a forgotten emotion influence everything from the land to the purpose of this project.
Parker pauses to inspect some of the lines on the outer field. I’d imagined the area would be filled by spring. Fresh, white lines should be painted over the tilled red dirt. Right now, it’s dull and empty. It’s a sad plot of land, doomed to sit in misuse for another year.
Multiple sports could be played here. I’ll try to brainwash the kids toward baseball, obviously, but if they were into football or soccer or even pickle ball—it’ll have the space. Or at least it was supposed to be a new extension for our youngest fans. Our neediest fans.
Outcasts, or the new guys, or kids who feel like they’ll never be well enough to play competitively should fill this place. Kids who are too shy to talk to anyone, they were supposed to thrive here. Learn teamwork, athleticism; they were supposed to laugh until they couldn’t anymore.
I’ve been staring at the brown and white brick building for the last hour. It’s nothing but a shell of empty rooms and stairwells.
From Parker’s truck, Dax and Griffin slide out, muttering about something before Griffin stops at the first sight of me and cuts a white smile over his face.
“I have something to say,” he announces.
I frown. “You usually do.”
“The world is a better place with the things I say.”
“Debatable.”
“Fine, my guy, if you don’t want to know the best idea on how to get this place up and running by spring training, I’ll sit here quietly.”
As he says the words, Griffin forces himself to go stiff. It’ll last five minutes. Already his lips are rubbing together like his tongue is dancing with a dozen words to spout off, but he has a competitive side too.
I’d like to build on this experiment. What will win out with Griffin Marks? His need to announce every thought in his head, or his drive to win? I hold his stare, daring him to break.
Griffin clears his throat. He shifts on his feet. I hold my ground, unblinking, and cross my arms over my chest in a silent challenge. I know how to dig my heels in better than anyone I know.
Parker finishes his protein bar, eyes drifting back and forth between us. Dax sets a timer on his phone.
